The Naked Truth of Harry Potter
by mortianna
Summary: Well, someone brought me to do an Epilogue to that thing. Sev's point of view about the things that happened the night a certain Harry Potter came into his chamber. Erm, not quite R. More thinking, folks:-)
1. Default Chapter

Okay, this is the answer to a challenge on the yahoo-group "the Dripping Quill" which is one out of the myriad of groups that deal with our beloved Potions master in away not designed by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers – even if I'm not too sure about the former one, after OotP:-)

The Challenge was to include the sentence: "Professor Snape, you know you just kissed me?" uttered by Harry Potter or someone else while Harry is present. I bet it says great things about my brain, that the first three parts just came flooding out of it:-)

And of course htis is not finished yet. Come on, you know me:-)

SS/HP, slash, PG13-R (hopefully)

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The naked truth of Harry Potter

"Professor Snape, you know you just kissed me?"

Harry's head turned around as if drawn by a string. A very strong string, at that. And fast. He couldn't believe his ears. Seamus couldn't really have said what he thought he had, could he? 

His eyes told him. that at least his ears had recognized the voice alright. It was Seamus, standing in front of the teacher's desk, wearing a face Harry could only describe as foolish with glee. Harry looked around to see if others had heard that too. Ron heaved his shoulders and looked a bit desperate. Traitor. He had known and not told him. Harry felt like in second year, when the whole school had thought he was the heir of Slytherin. Well, Ron and Hermione hadn't, but this time Ron was in into a secret and hadn't told him, his presumably best friend. Harry frowned and turned his head to watch the person to whom that ridiculous speech was addressed.

Snape. Severus Snape. Immaculately dressed as always, only the hair, lank and greasy, not adhering to the strict rules of order the man had set upon himself. The mouth a thin line of disgust as he looked Seamus up and down. The eyebrow, well one of the two jet black wings, went up and made one eye considerably larger than the other. The big nose twitched as if it smelled something awful. It probably did. Seamus was not one for too much personal hygiene, and nothing the whole of Gryffindor seventh class – male – had done could convince him otherwise. 

Harry shrugged his shoulders. Okay, he was not in on the joke. So what? All the more could he enjoy the results. Snape would tear Seamus apart, if it was the last he could do. And maybe it was. School would end forever next week, the exams taken, the Quidditch cup lost to Slytherin – it was all over.

Harry couldn't help himself but look at the other side of the room, to the Slytherin corner. Draco Malfoy, in all his lordly arrogance, looked on in disgust and contempt matching his head of house in a way that could have been funny. It wasn't. Surely even Malfoy wouldn't think that any one in their right mind, well, not even Seamus, would want to be kissed by the greasy git? Even Draco's adherence to his house couldn't go that far?

Harry turned his head again. Snape hadn't yet reacted. Strange. He would have sworn Seamus would have his tail off in a trice plus a year's worth of detention, classes ended or no. But Snape looked – shaken. Harry looked on in horror. That simply couldn't be. The bastard had – feelings? Surely not. And it was not as if he didn't know that this was a seventh year prank. He simply must. He had been a teacher for ages. He simply couldn't think anybody was taking that accusation seriously?

Harry shuddered. It seemed not only school but his whole life had come to a close. Seeing Snape like that, as a human being, touchable, reachable, with feelings, turned his world upside down. He nearly felt ashamed for seeing the man like that. And for all the pranks he had played upon him, even if he wasn't in on this special idiocy, as he had lost the snitch to Malfoy in the final game and wasn't considered worthy by his class mates.

Seamus surely didn't share his finer feelings. Thoroughly surprised by Snape's reaction, or lack thereof, but nonetheless driven by his urge to make a fool of their most hated teacher, and not a little of himself, as always, he went on: "You know that means we are as good as engaged in finer circles. Do you plan to stand by your commitment?" He cast a quick triumphant glance at his fellow Gryffindors who looked at him in a mixture of awe and apprehension. Harry didn't meet his eye, his were on the potions teacher. Whose lips moved as if Snape was muttering something under his breath. Harry thought he heard something like "very well, then", but that was of course ridiculous. Snape was much too far away and since when could he read Snape's mind? That was too gruesome to even think. Nevertheless he watched on, as the teacher lifted himself up to his whole height again as if a bolt of lightning had gone through him and grabbed Finnigan around the middle, yanked him up and crushed his lips to those of the student. 

Harry thought he was about to faint. This simply was not happening, or was it? He looked around again to look for confirmation. Everybody else was looking as dumb-struck as he felt. So it might be true. Harry looked to the spectacle again and felt a strange quiver in the area behind his left breast bone. Seamus had come to life and struggled to get free from Snape. Or did he? Harry knit his brows. Seamus' feet were kicking, but his hands went up around the high-collared neck and they didn't seem to be pushing. Looked more like pulling from where he sat. Another strange feeling went through his chest, a feeling Harry would have called pain, but that was of course too ridiculous to think. He looked on in awe as THE KISS, as it surely would be called for the next centuries, went on and on and on. Nope, Seamus was not struggling to get free. Indeed, it rather looked as if he – oh dear. Harry averted his eyes. Now Snape would have a wet spot on his immaculate robe. He wouldn't be pleased with that.

There was a plop when wet lips left wet lips. There was not another sound in the classroom. Only a small thud when Seamus' feet reached the ground, and a still smaller one when his bottom followed. Snape stood, as high and erect as always, rubbed his hands with a look on the prostrate figure before him, then stapled his fingers and looked at the class. "Very well, Mr. Finnigan. You may now tell your prank-loving classmates how it is, really, to be kissed by the greasy git, the bastard, the monster of Slytherin, who hadn't had it for ages, as you all seem to know. Don't forget to show them exactly what you got from it. I think in this case even Gryffindors tend to show a modicum of studiousness heretofore unknown. Excuse me, I have to do some cleaning up. Class dismissed. Fare the well."

And with a swishing with his a little less than immaculate robe the potions teacher was gone, followed by more eyes than just one pair of green ones, but these followed him long after he could be seen.


	2. naked truth 2

Okay. Now that was that. He was free at last. Free to go and do whatever he would. An adult. Never had to go back to these people he had to call relatives. Harry snorted. Ron shot him a lopsided grin. Yes, he was a good friend, even if he didn't understand one bit of what was really important. But did he? 

Harry still felt a little strange. A stranger to himself, he had read that somewhere. Or Hermione had and had told him, didn't really matter. 

That last potions class. THE KISS. Harry had spent the rest of the week with convincing himself that it had not been erotic. And that he had not been envious. And that he did not want Snape. No. Every night. Numerous times. He had a good practice of silencing charms by now. He was a teenager, after all. But he couldn't remember having it that bad. Harry shivered. It was not only the remembrance of the kiss, or the wet spot the kiss had induced (One kiss! Just think of it! the boys had whispered in their room, while Seamus behind his own silencing charm had undoubtedly cried himself to sleep with embarrassment), Harry found that his brain had assembled loads of loads of images of Snape over the years, images that used to make him angry, images that now – well, lead to sheet wetting and knuckle biting. Harry was ashamed, embarrassed and not a bit angry. It had not gone away. If anything, it had become stronger. Whatever it was, it was behind his breast bone as in his groin and it roared up now when he looked at the teacher's table to see the face he was so convinced he had hated for most of his life. 

He hadn't seen Snape again. Neither had Seamus – or so he hoped. It had been the last class after all, and today was the parting feast. There had been rumours of Snape resigning, of Dumbledore sacking Snape, even of Seamus going to that holy mountain in Greece to live there as a monk for the rest of his life – Harry didn't know, he hadn't talked to either of the three. How could he? Seamus didn't talk to anyone. Dumbledore was Dumbledore, and you just didn't meet him accidentally and asked him: "Oh, by the way, did you hear that Snape kissed Seamus Finnigan and made him wet his pants in front of the whole class? Surely you can't just tolerate that?" No. One surely didn't do that, or at least Harry Potter didn't do that. He was not a traitor, and he was not so great a hypocrite as to feign moral outrage when all he really felt was arousal. And envy. 

That left Snape. Snape. Snape. Snape. Harry hadn't yet come to terms with his fatal attraction. He scolded himself continuously – when he was not busy succumbing to the images that tortured his brain, and led to – other things. He didn't want Snape, that simply wasn't possible, he wanted him, badly, but that was only sexual (he was a young man of 18, and who ever heard of someone that age not being fascinated by someone who could make another one come in his pants with just a kiss?), he was an idiot and Snape hated him, always had, and he had no chance whatsoever with him, even if he had the guts to try, no he didn't want Snape, etc etc. He had his whole life in front of him, the whole world was his to conquer and he wouldn't throw that away just to delve into a morbid fascination with his (former) Potions professor. No. Simply wouldn't. Harry licked his lips inadvertently and just caught his hand in time before it went into his trousers just at the sight of Snape showing his most evil smirk at something Dumbledore said. 

He felt Ron's eyes on him. Shit. There was no use pretending. They had talked about this. THE KISS. Of course they had. They all had. At great length. They even had – well, succumbed to the fascination together. Harry felt his ears turn red. Yes, they were young and reckless and driven by hormones and all that. Everybody said so. But Ron had looked at him in his special completely clueless way when Harry had asked him, in the dead of the night and in private, if Ron also thought about how it would be, you know, with Snape? In bed? He had looked clueless and slightly ill afterwards. Of course not, was what he said. Wouldn't dream of touching the greasy git. Too queer to even think about it. Had been quite arousing, this much he conceded, watching the kiss and Seamus humping helplessly, but it was as funny as it was arousing and most of all it was atrocious. So much for Ron.

Snape. No. He simply wouldn't. He couldn't. Well, of course he could. But he wouldn't. No. He had a life to lead, he wanted to travel, see the world and there would sure be better sights, even more arousing, interesting, fascinating than the dour old Potions master. Yes. Wouldn't.


	3. naked truth 3

"What is it?" the voice of the Potions master sent shivers along Harry's spine. He was standing outside the door of Snape's private rooms. Was glad he had found them after all, had cost him some bribery he'd rather not think about. There were steps behind the closed door and Harry shivered. He was not so sure after all that he was glad he found the rooms, and why exactly was it that he had come? He had prepared a speech, but just at the moment it had fled him completely. "Whoever that is better has a good reason for disturbing me in the middle of the night", the voice of the teacher growled – and did it slur just the tiniest bit? Harry shivered again. Reason? What reason? What was reason to begin with?

The door opened with a bang. Yes, it had been slurring, Harry decided. The Potions master looked – different. He was wearing a dressing gown in dark green – a colour Harry despised heartily – and his hair hang into his face as he looked around wildly. His fingers shook, just a little. Harry shivered in sympathy. He managed to slip into the room, while Snape had another look around and saw nothing. The door closed and Harry's heart sank.

Now, here he was. In the eye of the storm. Who looked about wildly – Harry felt reminiscent of his awful fourth year, with the tournament and all, when Snape had really seemed mad. Perhaps he was. Harry felt trapped – and it was his own bloody fault. 

Snape went over to a chair and a table. He set down and poured himself something out of a bottle into a glass, both standing on the table. Harry followed suite and from what he saw it didn't seem as if it was the first glass. Yes, definitely, slurring. The Potions master was thoroughly pissed. Or not far away from that. 

"Damn the brats", he muttered. "Damn those prank-loving utter bastards. Not enough to make my days a living hell, now they come tormenting me at night, too." Harry stared on in horror. Yes, Snape was mad. Talking to himself, drinking – he should be gone. Now. He looked about as wildly as Snape had done moments earlier. But there was only the door. And Snape had closed it. Well he would fall asleep. Eventually. He must. Simply must. 

But not just yet. "Should have stayed with Riddle", Snape said to his glass. "Bad taste, that one, but I wouldn't have taught for ages and ages, generation after generation." Harry thought that a bit much. Clearly Snape couldn't be that old? "Taught? Whom are you telling that, Severus?", Snape said with a bitter laugh, that sounded so hollow Harry froze. "Never taught anybody anything Tried to, though." Another deep look into the glass, followed by a hearty sip. The glass landed back on the table, splashing some of the brown fluid onto it. Harry could have used a drop, too. He licked his lips. Oh, okay, so he was in lust with a mad man and a former death eater who would have liked being a death eater better than teaching. Good to know – and now he could get on with his life. When he got out of this room.

"But all these buggers are interested in is – sex", Snape complained to the bottle. "Try to drill holes in the things they call their brains, holes into holes, what a joke". He laughed a very sad laugh turning into a cough. Harry really needed that drink, badly. "Try to make them able to lead a decent life, to defend themselves and not kill themselves or anybody else inadvertently. And what do they do? Only interested in getting in each others knickers. Or even their own. Pathetic." Another cough. Harry was shocked. Surely he couldn't have been that obvious? He felt a bit awkward. 

"And all they can think about, if think you may call it, is How can I do it? How often can I do it? Can I get anybody to do it with me? Is anybody else doing it? Does that anybody have more fun than me?" Another bitter laugh. Harry was dumbfounded. Well, yes, now that he thought about it, Snape had a point there. But he was too terrified by the fact that Snape had noticed anything beside their potions to be shocked by the fact that he for once was of the same opinion as Snape was. 

Snape tried to bring glass and bottle together. It seemed to be a difficult task. "And each and every damned year, one or the other of these brilliant Gryffindors decides he has to take the risk and insult the hated Potions teacher's sexuality. Each and every fucking year." Harry was even more shocked. Sure, he hadn't been in on the joke, and he hadn't found it spectacularly funny, but surely it wasn't common usage? It couldn't be, or could it.

"Each and every fucking year the lord bestows upon us – funny that, the Lord Who? What you call him?" Snape laughed a laugh that made Harry's hair stand on end. Not much more and he would dart to the door and take the risk of opening it. Trying to, at least. Snape was in no position to follow him. "They decide it would be oh so funny to show me their hatred and contempt in their special way. Do they do that to Minerva? Do they do that to Binns? Nope." He toasted himself. "They only ever do that to me." He drank. Harry watched the throat constrict. And gulped.

"And as the only thing they can think about is sex as being the most important thing in the world, they invariably try and challenge me on that field." He had a little difficulty with the word "invariably". "Hahaha", that really sounded bitter. "I got a brilliant idea", Snape gave a fair imitation of Bill Weasley. "The greasy git hasn't been laid – ever, wouldn't it be nice to make him blush? Wouldn't that repay him for what he has done to us?" 

Harry watched on as Snape opened a drawer and took out sheets of parchment. "Year after year. Professor, when did you last get off? Professor, did you kiss – ever? Professor, surely you haven't been laid – once?" Snape threw the pieces of parchment on the floor. Harry watched with horror, as one of them stopped directly in front of him, more exactly leant on his cloak covered leg. Snape didn't notice. Harry relaxed a bit.

"I have enough. I resign. Nothing more of it. Albus can have my head, and my job, and everything. I don't care". Snape threw the table against the wall. Harry gulped. Oh oh, he was in trouble. He looked longingly at the door. And back to Snape. Somehow he felt sympathy for the man. He was as mad as a monk, but still. 

Snape had sunken to the floor, collapsing on the table. Harry squirmed. That must hurt! "That Finnigan", Snape growled, lifting his head like a wounded yet deadly animal. "That was too much. I lost it. Once in twenty years is not that bad, now is it?" He giggled. Harry felt his teeth shatter. Hopefully Snape didn't hear him. No, surely not. Snape was in a world all of his own. 

"And now I showed them. Once and for all!" Snape tried to get up but couldn't. He seemed quite content on the floor as it was. "There will be no more talk about my non-existing sexuality." More evil giggling. "Wetted himself. Quite gratifying, I must say. Didn't think it would be so easy. That definitely was a bonus. Wretched little brat". Snape sounded nearly fond. Harry's horror flared. "Didn't think I still had it in me, if truth be told", Snape said earnestly to the table he leant on. "It really was a long time." He tried again to get up, and failed again. "But surely you don't loose it completely, and if I can't get a hormonal teenager off, that would be the day." Harry gulped as he saw generations of future Hogwarts students being molested by the Potions teacher, now that he had tasted blood. Oh hell! He had to talk to Dumbledore. He pitied Snape, really, but he couldn't let him get away with that. He had assumed responsibility, damn himself. Why was it always him, Harry Potter, who had to clean away the mess others had left behind? Because he got himself headlong into it, that's why, said his conscience. Harry couldn't object.

"And now they all come and want a piece", Snape muttered to the table. He was stroking it, Harry noticed, with his long fingers, rather tenderly. Harry gulped again. Wait, what had he said? He had been momentarily distracted, as his blood had decided to leave his brain for a visit to his lower regions. He summoned it back with all the power he could muster. And listened. 

"That's even worse. Little hypocrites. Can't stand me, but now that they saw what I can do, they come here in the middle of the night, wanting to talk to me. Talk!", he screamed. "After seven years they want to talk. In the middle of the night. Seven years of torture, seven years of trying to make them learn anything, seven years of hating me, and now they come to me for their sexual education." Snape groaned and Harry was taken aback. They – had – come – here? Who? He narrowed his eyes. Who had dared?

"Bulstrode. BULSTRODE! As if I ever could do something, anything to her. Malfoy. MALFOY. At least he's pretty, but he's his father's son, so how dare he? Crabbe and Goyle. Argh! I never was that desperate to fall back on the animal species." Harry wanted to giggle and pressed his hand against his mouth. Snape shook his head sadly. "And of course the Gryffindors. Shouldn't wonder that Granger came." Hermione? HERMIONE? "She always was one for study". Again, the Potions teacher sounded quite fond. Hermione would be so proud to hear – Harry would of course never tell her. Just at the moment he had an urge to kill her. Slowly. Very slowly. 

"But Weasley. That really took me by surprise." Ron? RON had been here? Oh wait. Just you wait, Ron Weasley. You'll wish you'd have died in that chess game in first year before I'm finished with you, you treacherous, lying viper of a hypocrite.

"And even Longbottom. LONGBOTTOM!" Snape sounded resigned now. He hugged the table rather closely. "Of course, Longbottom could use all the help he ever gets. But he would faint before I even touched him." Harry dearly hoped so. Otherwise he would stupefy him. For good. 

"And of course the little bastard himself. Finnigan. Who found it so funny to tease me". Snape showed a malicious grin. Harry was horrified. Seamus? Seamus had – come again? "Wanted to end what he had begun. Saucy wretch". Snape fondled the table and smiled. 

Harry fumed. He would kill Seamus, long and slow, yes. He had it coming for years, the little Irish son of a bitch, that traitorous no-good foolish idiot of a hypocritical ...

"Then again – there is someone missing." Snape stared directly at Harry whose heart skipped a beat. Snape's hand was not shaking at all and his eyes were as still and dangerous, as cool and calm as they had been for years. The drunkenness was gone. Now he got up with a singular grace and was directly in front of Harry glaring down at him. No, he couldn't see through the cloak, Harry prayed. Please, dear god. He can't. I'll be a good boy ever after. He simply can't see through it. He couldn't in first year. He missed me. It was close, but he missed me. He can't. 

The cloak was taken away from him and thrown to the floor. "Not so much as all that", the silky voice said and the black eyes penetrated Harry to the core. "Mr. Potter. What a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to – talk?"


	4. naked truth 4

Harry just tried to stay on his feet. He looked longingly at the liquor crawling over the floor where Snape had pushed it. He could use a drink now, badly. But there didn't seem anything left, if he didn't want to lick it directly from the floor. And he was not that desperate. Or perhaps didn't really believe it would help.

Snape circled him, his eyes narrowed, his lips a thin line. He looked like a deadly animal, an eagle, or a hawk – or a vulture. Harry gulped. Yes, he was dead. So dead. Then again: How long had Snape known that he was here? Had it all been a play? All that emotion and madness – sham? Had there really been others?

He tried to stop the moving black figure with his stare: "You are evil", he said accusingly. "How long have you known I was here?" "Ah", said Snape with relish. "A sign of intelligent life under that unruly hair of yours. That I live to see the day." Harry glared harder. Had he really come here to be insulted? Hadn't he had enough of that already? He was such an idiot. "You have known all along, haven't you?", Harry screamed. "Who was here, really? No one?"

Snape smirked. "And why", he asked in a deceivingly soft tone, "would that be any concern of yours, Mr. Potter? And why should we talk about that in the middle of the night? In my private rooms even? Into which you entered without permission, as I might add. Let me get that straight: You accuse me of having known of your unwanted presence and putting up a show for you. Is that right?" Harry was mesmerised by the look of the black eyes and couldn't do anything but nod. Snape's face was very close very suddenly and his large nose nearly hit his. "Okay. Let's try again. All things considered: Which impression would your turning up in the middle of the night, under the guise of an invisibility cloak, and listening in on a teacher, give to an uninvolved observer? Hm?"

Harry felt like in class. And automatically he thought hard. THE KISS, his thoughts of Snape, his trying not to think of Snape, his considerably desperate deeds while trying not to think of Snape, his sneaking into his private rooms in the dead of the night, his well, it had felt a bit like jealousy, when Snape had talked about all the others who had or had not been here. Harry shrieked. "It's not that!" His voice didn't seem to be convinced.

Snape chuckled. "You don't say". He stapled his fingers and looked over them down at Harry. The white fingers made the black of the eyes appear even darker, Harry noticed as if for the first time. He cast down his eyes and blushed. "Look at me!" The voice of Snape commanded attention and as in class Harry obeyed automatically. Snape smirked and took to circling him again. Harry felt grateful. It was easier to watch the man's fluid movements than to have to stand still under his scrutinizing gaze. 

"So you have not come to - talk – to me, Potter, just to have a – private – look? Is that right?" The potions master had stopped in his track and stood directly before Harry again. There must be a plan to that, Harry decided, simply had to. "No!", he cried again, outraged. Who would do such a thing? 

Snape smirked again. "Thought so. Of course the young golden Gryffindor hero has no reason to watch his former potions teacher in private, after all the years he had to watch him in class. Who would think such a thing? Right?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "Right". Then he thought about that. "Ehm?" Another evil smirk from Snape. "Then again – there must be a reason for your sneaking into my rooms in the middle of the night, Potter. Scatterbrained as you are, you always have a reason for doing what you do, however far-fetched it might be." Harry thought hard. He noticed he was panting and wondered how on earth that had come about. Reason. Right. Had he? 

A hand came down and clamped on his shoulder. "You Mr. Potter are a hypocrite just like the others. Only in a little less disguise. Charming really, this little performance. Gives ample evidence that my assumptions about your brain functionality were exaggerated, low as they were to begin with." Harry blushed deeply. And really, he couldn't blame Snape. Not really. He wasn't too proud of the train of thought that brought him here, either. 

"On the other hand", and the fingers dug deeply into Harry's shoulders, "I am the first to admit an error, if I should find any on my part." Harry would have become very angry, hadn't he been too busy blushing and looking down to his toes. "And I have to admit, that even I wouldn't have thought you capable of doing something so outrageously" – Harry shivered as the voice of Snape became deeper and lower with each syllable – "silly. Insolent, yes, brazen, even. Of course: Foolishness together with impudence, teaming up under the guise of courage, have always been a Gryffindor speciality." Harry would have nodded, but he still stared to the ground. Nice ground, that. "But you, Mr. Potter, as always, are unprecedented. The sheer amount of your brazenness astonishes even me, who should know better, after all." Harry felt he couldn't blush any further. 

Another hand grabbed his other shoulder and pushed just as hard as the other already did. Harry felt compelled to look up, into Snape's face, into the black eyes that looked as unrelenting as ever. Snape looked him up and down again and Harry's eyes followed. Oh. He wouldn't have thought he could blush further. And he had been quite wrong. It was possible to blush from head to toe, literally. "Ah", said Snape, with unmitigated relish. "Even if it would appear that your deeds are not in accordance with your words. Nothing new here, too. Hm?" and with that the hands left Harry's shoulders and he felt suddenly more alone in the world than ever and very very naked.


	5. naked truth 5

"I I ", stuttered Harry and fought the desperate urge to hide his bareness. Snape had already had ample time and opportunity to see whatever he wanted to. If he wanted. The eyebrow went up in mild interest. "Yes, Mr. Potter?" Gods, that voice. Yes, he should hide, try to hide, at least, part of his body. Oh bollocks. "Am naked", he added lamely and could have killed himself right afterwards. How could he say that? Well, seemed to be the one thought that was foremost in his mind. Small wonder.

"You don't say". Mild astonishment on the face of the Potions teacher. Harry would have killed him, had he seen a chance of hitting on Snape, naked, without embarrassing himself further. It that was possible. The possibility dwindled as the minutes went along, in direct proportion, only reverse, of his bodily state. Harry felt Snape's eyes on him again and assembled all his reputed Gryffindor courage to look the man in the eye. 

Snape nodded slowly. He looked at Harry as if seeing a new and not too interesting specimen of potions elixir someone had inadvertently stuffed under his nose. "Now that you say it – yes you are. I hadn't noticed." Harry snorted against his will. "You bet", he blurted out, humiliation be damned. It couldn't get worse, now could it. "I don't", said Snape determinedly. "But I admit to still owning a little measure of curiosity. Would you care to enlighten me why that is so?" The glare got harder. "Especially as you seemed so eager to convince me that you hadn't come to – talk – to me, like all the others."

Oh, all right. Harry lost all hope. If his body betrayed him like that, his mind and soul and the little brains he had, and wherever anything inside him belonged and connected with each other and what the heck. Snape wouldn't believe him anyway. 

"I didn't know I was naked", he said and looked up from under his fringe. "I just - kind of donned my cloak and – went". It sounded lame, yes he knew, but it was the truth. He hadn't even thought about presenting himself naked to Snape who would then undoubtedly ravish him on the spot, make him come with a kiss and a quick hard – well, of course he had, but only in his dreams, in his dreams and while he fought the attraction. Oh, shite. Perhaps he should have listened to Hermione when she was on about something she called psychology after spending a holiday with some friends of her parents. She had been blabbering about something she insisted on calling the subconscious. He and Ron had made fun of it, and her, like every time she came up with something she took so seriously. Well, he got his reward for that, after all, it seemed. Hermione would be so thrilled. 

"I see". Snape's eyes looked like they had done in class when Harry tried to convince him that he had not forgotten his homework but had been lying in the hospital wing and therefore couldn't do it. His heart sank. Snape's eyes were on him and the eyebrow looked highly dubiously. "You didn't know that you were naked, you just put on your cloak and went?" The tone was clipped, as if Snape was keen on repeating Harry's words without a fault. "Yes". Harry felt relieved. Perhaps Snape would simply let him go, out of here, out of his life, from this earth – simply – away.

No such luck. "Just indulge me a little longer", Snape said in that soft tone that was a token of his more enquiring moods – the one he used to lull you in before he came upon you like a ton of bricks. Harry knew it well, but what could he do? He shivered in anticipation. "I am not as young as I used to be, and two in the morning is not my finest hour, so let me try to spell this out – again. You were naked, put on your invisibility cloak" – Harry noticed that Snape had no problem whatsoever with the word invisibility, oh what a fool he was, had been and would always be! – "and went out of your dorm in the middle of the night. You knocked on my door, and when I opened, you slipped in unnoticed. You let me get on with what I was doing, until I found you out. But you didn't come to – talk – to me or even see me. Is that a correct synopsis of what you said?" Deceivingly soft, and oh so low. Harry felt his spine shrink and going in on itself. "Yes", was all he could say, and even to his own ears it sounded very weak indeed. Didn't help that his body was bound on counteracting his words – again. Oh hell! He was so dead. He looked down on his toes again. Even they were red as if ashamed of him, he noticed morosely. 

A big warm hand was under his chin and lifted his face up none too softly. "You are lying", a deadly voice said. "Am not", cried Harry, pretending as much as he could to be as outraged as he wished to be. A thumb stroked his mouth and the creak of his chin, silencing Harry more effectively than anything else could have. "You - are – lying, Mr. Potter." Harry felt his hairs stand on end. The voice was deadly, yes, but his body seemed bound to live on as long and strong as it could. Which would only make his death more painful and humiliating, he knew it. 

"No", he said weakly, driven more by his seven years as a student of this teacher, than by anything else. The thumb stroked again, in a manner that couldn't be really called a caress – but neither was it torture. Well, at least not torture of a kind heretofore known to Harry. The man had unknown depths still to travel after all these years, thought Harry and tried to swallow. He simply must. But it wasn't easy. "How do you know?", he asked against his will, lead on by the mesmerising stroking and the stare in those black eyes, completely distracted from what he wanted Snape to believe through his bodily reactions. 

"Your lips moved", said Snape matter-of-factly. Harry felt the outrage these words merited only through a cotton wall. It was so nice being touched by Snape, being looked at by Snape, standing naked in front of Snape, with a body tingling with sensation and ready to reach out to higher goals. Wait. There was something wrong here. Terribly wrong. 

"What?", said Snape in a voice that denoted humour with him. "No outrage? No good old Gryffindor moralistic tirade?" "No", said Harry, dreamily following the thumb with his eyes and licking his lips unwittingly. "Oh", Snape made a small sound that mirrored the cocking of his eyebrow. "You find me amazed, Mr. Potter. This is really the first time you don't object to my calling you a liar. How come?"

Harry looked at the thumb longingly. "Isn't important", he murmured. "Just get on with it." There was a sound Harry had never heard before, but decided he could live without. Snape laughed, and it was not a pleasant laugh. "Eager, are we?" Harry just about managed not to nod to eagerly. He didn't manage not to bite down on the thumb which just was too tempting for words. And so close. 

"Argh", cried Snape and retraced his maltreated limb from Harry's mouth none too gently. "You are completely mad, aren't you, Potter?" Harry looked vaguely in the direction of the red and swollen appendix and nodded. Well, yes, perhaps he was. Now that he thought about it. Not that he wanted to think. Not really. 

The eyes of the Potions master became dark menacing slits and came close. Very close. "Don't fuck with me, Potter". Had he thought the eyes were menacing? Well, nothing against the voice. Really. And not only menacing. Well, not completely unwelcome evil menacing, like that by Tom Riddle, for example. His body – reacted – even more. His throat constricted but not before his mind, having wound itself around the more intriguing part of Snape's speech, blew out of his mouth with something like a gurgle. "grwrbrpplease". 


	6. naked truth 6

The eyes narrowed even more. Harry wouldn't have thought that possible, but then again he wouldn't have thought his own body capable of such excitement without explosion. He made small whimpering sounds in his throat, completely against his will. His eyes couldn't see too well through the fog that seemed to have conquered his glasses. 

But he could still hear. Through a similar fog, granted, but still. "What did you say?" The voice of the Potions master was bound to intimidate. Terrorize. Induce heart failure. Well, it didn't. Not anymore. Not with Harry. He was so dead. In a completely different way. The nose of Snape, that rather intimidating specimen, was so close he could have counted the pores. They were rather large, it was true after all. Not only oily hair but a skin condition to go with it. Figured. But did this help his state? No way. Harry squirmed and shivered all over. "Please", he pleaded. Please don't make me spell it out. Please don't pretend to not understand me. Please – do me. Harry put an amount of entreaty in his eyes he wouldn't have thought himself capable of. He had looked at persons – well if you could call Him Who Wanted to Brag more Than Kill as a person - and even at Snape with that much feeling, but that had been quite different. Stubbornness wouldn't do it now, Harry was sure of that. 

Btu what could he do? How did anyone seduce a person? He didn't even know how Snape had seduced him, made him see him in a completely different way. Well, one moment he was the greasy git, the terror of his school days, the next moment he was a real person with feelings and the minute after the sexiest person alive. Or at least at Hogwarts, Harry knew full well that there might be a place on earth where another being existed that could induce similar feelings in him. But that was only theory. Here he was now with the sexiest person in reach, naked and ready and what did that person do? Nothing than eye him with a suspicion that bordered on paranoia. Well, of course being a spy for multiple sides could have something to do with that. Not to mention that Harry himself would have thought something was up if someone who had outright despised him for ages had suddenly come to him and begged him to – well. Okay. Snape had a point even people less suspicious could see. 

But that did not help his case in the least. And it was becoming quite chilly standing here like that. He cast a furtive glance down. Yes, it was cold and that wasn't very becoming. More polite, though. Waving the flag to press your point wasn't perhaps the most refined way to do things. Honest, though. But what could he do? He couldn't kiss someone to make Snape want him. There was no one here. Not that he thought that he could make someone come with just a kiss. But he could at least try. He narrowed his eyes. There must be a way. He would figure it out. The cold was not to good for his brain cells. Snape was right – perhaps he had no brain. 

"Changed your mind then?" The voice of Snape dripped with malice. Harry let the sentence roll around in the empty caverns of his head. Yes, he had changed his mind. About Snape. And no, he hadn't changed his mind. About coming here and well – coming. He let his eyes roam speculatively about the teacher. There was a heat coming off of the man that really made him the one place in this lousy dungeon to be inviting, forbidding manner, arms crossed in front of the chest, dark gaze, curled lip and all. 

Harry stared. He could do that. And there it was. A flicker in the eye, not really a tic, but just as if Snape would have liked to avert his eyes but wouldn't of course, what with him being the older and stronger and prouder and all that. And why would he want to look away? Because he couldn't stand the stare? That was ridiculous. Snape himself was the master at that. Because he didn't want Harry to see something, anything in his eyes that Snape didn't want to show but was afraid would? Harry felt his mouth curl. Hermione would have been proud of him. He could do logical and psychological after all, and his brain could deduce thing very well, thank you, Professor Snape. 

"Out of words, Potter?" The voice didn't betray anything. It was as silky, smooth and dangerous as a very expensive shawl that strangled you. Harry loved it. How he could have thought otherwise at any given time was beyond him. Okay, he had been wrong about Snape multiple times. He hadn't tried to kill him but wanted to save him. He wasn't evil incarnate, even if he wasn't the nicest person on the planet. But he sure was sexiness incarnate. Everything added up to this. Manner, voice, look – not to mention THE KISS. Harry let out a sound that rung ridiculous in his own ears. Really. A cat couldn't make more pathetic sounds. 

Snape's dark eyes roamed about him and made him shiver. "This is the epitome of ridiculous, Potter. I trust you don't mind if I interrupt this lousy excuse for a prank and get your head of house to deal with you as she must. This time she'll just have to believe that you're mental. Who could blame you, really, with all you have been through? But you were far better off in St. Mungo's than here at something that at least some people consider an institution to bring knowledge to children, not spoil them rotten with negligence". 

Harry stared. Rethink that, something in him screamed. You were wrong. Snape is evil incarnate. Nobody with even half a human feeling left in his body would ridicule a person because of his stay in hospital. He felt hot, hotter than ever before, he felt tears start behind his eyelids, and he felt so angry, as he could and would not remember having felt ever before. "You", he hissed menacingly in something that curiously resembled Parseltongue. Snape held himself even more upright. "Yes Potter? Have something to say, after all? Made up our – mind?"

Harry started to scream, he opened his mouth, but at the last moment he noticed something about Snape that made him stop and shut his mouth rather suddenly. The man looked – relieved. Just for the slightest tiniest moment he looked like he was happy that Harry was about to scream at him, that he had managed to make him that angry. It could have been because he would have even more reason to sack Harry and send him home for good then, but Harry didn't believe that. Not quite. 

The black eyes were back on him the next moment. One could have thought it had been an illusion, this short look away. But Harry didn't. And wouldn't wait for Snape to get his bearings together and McGonagall here. No. He simply wouldn't wait. If the mountain didn't come to him, he would come to the mountain. If he had only one chance, here it was. If he didn't do it now, Snape would never let him get that close again without screaming the house down or curse him into oblivion. Well, perhaps Snape would still do that if he acted now. But then Harry would have the satisfaction that he had tried at least. That would make his life at St. Mungo's or as a chair or whatever so much more worthwhile.

"No", cried Harry and lunged himself at the man, mouth and legs first. Snape stumbled a bit under his assault. He was taller than Harry still, but Harry was albeit slim and scrawny, quite stronger than he looked. Quidditch had given him muscles that worked and he used them to his advantage. Snape's hands came up to his shoulders, to push him back, away or so Harry presumed, but he wouldn't let go. His hands tangled in the greasy hair, and if Snape didn't stop struggling, he would really be hurt. Harry's legs were around the waist of the potions master, and his lips pressed onto the thin brutal mouth. Harry hadn't much practice, granted, but he had replayed THE KISS so often in his mind, and adorned it with so many ideas of his own, that he didn't feel completely at a loss with technique. When the lips under his opened a bit, in protest, he didn't doubt, he took his chance and delved into the mouth, his tongue wiggling its way along the one of the teacher. And then he stopped thinking, didn't feel anything besides the overwhelming feeling of sparring with Snape in a way that was far more rewarding than their usual banter at school. After what seemed like a century, he came up for air, and sighed against the hot mouth before him.


	7. naked truth 7

Thanks for the reviews. Lorelei, you are a wonder! 

Well, it gave me incentive enough to get on with it, and this will be one part more than I thought. The end is already written, I just have to get the hoopla done, you know, tragic as it might seem:-)

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Snape's lips were trembling, Harry noticed through his fogged-up glasses. Either that or Snape was muttering so low that he couldn't hear him. And that was not so very plausible as he was close enough to feel his heart beat. Rapidly, at that, or was that his own? He couldn't quite tell them apart. Harry would have laughed at the notion that he and Snape shared something as common as a heartbeat just a week earlier, and perhaps he would in some years from now, but at the moment he wasn't about to do so. He was using the pause his breathlessness had given him, to ponder the question if he should just get on with it or catch Snape's eye to look for clues. 

He felt the chest of the teacher inflate as if Snape was catching his breath to deal him the terminable blow. Something like: "Very nice Potter, but not nearly as effective as this twit Finnigan." Nope, Harry didn't want to hear that. He didn't want to hear anything of the kind, come to think of it, much as his body loved Snape's voice, it loved his mouth doing other things even better. And given his state of habillé, or rather deshabillé, there was no mistaking the signs. Better to get on with kissing, thought Harry, and did just that, not to give the bastard an opportunity to comment on anything. The fact that Snape had not already hexed him into next week must count for something, mustn't it?

And his lips tasted so good. Who would have thought that, what with his less than perfectly-groomed exterior and his constant cauldron stirring. His tongue was sleek and strong, and very very flexible. His whole body was, Harry noticed when he found himself grinding into it. Hard as the proverbial stick as he always seemed – and some said where that stick was stuck – his body moulded itself perfectly to the slightly smaller form of Harry's. They fit together, Harry noticed with no small amount of – well, feeling.

Snape tried to get away when he felt that the closeness would betray him, as Harry knew he would with a certainty he didn't know he had. He just held him close for a moment just to show Snape that he wouldn't and needn't get away with it and then pressed his erection into the one of the other man. Who moaned very satisfyingly before he caught himself. Harry grinned. Yes, it wasn't easy, he could sympathize with that. On the other hand – Snape had nothing to complain – at least he hadn't been standing naked in front of someone else for hours, most of the time with a hard-on that insisted on staying or even inflating, no matter what was happening or not happening in the real world. 

Hardness on hardness. There was no room for playing the fool here. Harry was grateful, for the first time, that his chosen object of desire was male. Well, he had always thought that he liked girls good enough, but he really didn't know anything about them. To imagine it would have been McGonagall – he shuddered.

"What?", asked Snape and the velvet voice sounded a bit irritated, as if its owner still sensed a trap after they had gotten so far. He was a prickly person, Harry thought fondly, and of course it would have been really evil of him, to now laugh at Snape who had by now quite incriminated himself. Or so one could think. This was no class room and they were all alone and Snape was temptingly hard, or at least had been until Harry had shuddered.

He looked up into the black eyes for the first time since he had initiated the kiss. "I just thought how relieved I am that you are a man", he said. Honesty had brought him here, right? The black eyes blinked. Harry couldn't recall having seen them doing that ever before. Harry felt a big fat grin on his face. He had done that? Not only made the potions monster hard, but blink on top of that? That was really something.

"Interesting", said Snape in a voice that didn't betray any emotion or his bodily state. "That answers at least one question I was harbouring." "You did?", asked Harry eagerly. "Since when? And why didn't you say anything?" Long fingers curled into his shoulder muscles in a way that very nearly hurt. "Thank you for reminding me again of why this is not a good idea, Potter." Snape tried to get away from Harry again, this time with a bit more force behind his action, but Harry was prepared by the tone of voice and wouldn't let him. He spared one thankful thought for Oliver Wood – the Quidditch captain who had insisted that the team train earlier, longer, and harder – not that Wood would have approved of the way Harry put the benefits of that training to the test. 

"No you won't, Severus Snape", Harry said. He hadn't the natural authority of Snape, right, but he had learned something from Molly Weasley. The way she ordered her huge family about, all of which were way taller than her, had left a strong impression on him. Snape stilled. Right, he must know Molly from the Order. And perhaps she had been in class with him, even. Oops, not so good a thought just now. Just as bad as the thought of his head of house. Head now, that was a good thought. Harry gulped. Well, I come back to that later, he promised his thought. First I have to do some more convincing. Again.

"You won't back out of this now, S- S- Severus", Harry said. He had had his tongue in the throat of the other man already and planned on getting or having other things into him or himself – drat, that thought was becoming more confused with each addition to it – surely he could call the man by his given name? Snape's eyebrow went up, but he didn't fight. Good. As long as it lasted. 

"What did you mean, when you said that answered a question?" Okay, let him spell it out. Let him see this wasn't the urge of a moment, the desperate need of a hormonal teenager - well, of course it was, but Harry was prepared to talk, too, if he must. And it seemed he did have to.

Snape blinked again. "I meant exactly what I said", he said in a bored tone. "I had thought about when exactly you would realize that I was male." Harry stared. "Erm well, now that you mention it – there was no mistaking THAT when we were quite close just a moment ago." Harry knew he blushed, but what was he supposed to do? Talking about it was more complicated than simply doing it, it seemed. And much more embarrassing. 

"Manners, Potter", Snape said mildly. "It is not considered good form to point out the weaknesses of the flesh to someone your el.. – your tea... – anyone". Harry stared. Had Snape really tried three times to get a simple sentence out? Wow. Perhaps he was not the only one who found the talking part a bit – hard to do. 

"Sorry sir". Okay, the 'Severus' hadn't been rejected, but Snape had called him Potter, like always, so perhaps Mr. Manners would insist on the sir? And no reason not to indulge Snape a little, considering what he really wanted him to do. Now. Or at least soon.

"To put it in words so blunt as to being comprehensible even to the feeblest mind: It hadn't come to my attention that you were gay. I laboured under the impression that you had your little flings with girls. You find me quite astonished that you seem so eager to devour me now – a male person, if we abandon the other equally forbidding features of me for a moment."

"Well, I didn't know either". And that much was true, really. Harry hadn't even thought about his affliction in terms like that. He was attracted to Snape, and that was bad enough. He couldn't spare a thought on how society would call that crush of his. "Well, I'm still not sure. If you have to put a label on it, perhaps you could say, I'm snaped. Instead of gay". 

Snape stared at him for what seemed an eternity. Then his face contorted into something that was the first real laugh Harry had seen on that face. He was not sure if that was a good sign. "I see. Must have been pretty humiliating when you noticed, wasn't it?" "You have no idea", said Harry and it was heartfelt. Snape gave something that with every other person would have been a giggle and even wiped a tear back from his cheek which had escaped one black eye. Harry was horrified. The Boy Who Brought Snape to Laugh to Tears – now that was a label Witch Weekly would tag on him only with great dislike. And yet, he loved it. Even if it worked contrary to his brilliant plan of getting laid. He'd rather be The Boy Who Lived to Make Severus Snape Scream – and Get What He Wants on the Way.

Snape smirked once more. "So that state of – Snapedness - " here Snape nearly lost it again, but caught himself before he burst out laughing, "does away with every other obstacle such as: age, profession, gender, and general dislike of me as a person, doesn't it?" 

"Yes", said Harry and a relieved grin crossed about his face. Snape had got it and perhaps they could get on with it now. Plus, he was a bit relieved that he wasn't gay. Not really. "And I was glad you were a man because there is no mistaking there. I went out with – a girl, and I didn't know what she wanted most of the time." Snape nodded slowly. There was a twinkle in his eye that threatened to break into a full-flown laugh any moment. It was a gruesome sight. "I see that my being a man would appease feelings of general ignorance with the task at hand. But why did you shudder?" Harry shuddered again. "McGonagall". He couldn't say more. But funny as it seemed, Snape understood. He shuddered in sympathy. "Ah, yes, I see". 

They stood in silence for a while and Harry got rather cold again. This was all well and fine, but what now? The mood was slightly spoiled now. All the talking had founded a feeling of mutual understanding, as the phrase went concerning hostilities in the Muggle world, between him and Snape, but it had lead him nowhere, sex-wise. Snape seemed to sense his concern and for once, decided to indulge it. It was the night of wonders, after all. 

"I really am sorry Potter", in a tone that sounded as if Snape meant it. "It would have been easy to just get on with it, but if we are to do –it – and I am in no way predicting that we will, in fact" – yes, one glare of Snape could still crush Harry's hopes quite effectively – "I want to make quite certain, that you are really sure what you get yourself in. I am not yet so – pottered – as to forget reality." "Reality?", Harry blinked, trying not to laugh at Snape's way with words, or not cry because Snape could still think. "Yes, reality, Potter, as in: teacher/student, old/young, male/male, Snape/Potter. All these things seemed to repel each other until very recently. You must give me time to adjust to your reality shift."

Trust Snape to bring it home again, to him. Harry sighed. He should never have stopped kissing the bastard, man, he meant. He could have convinced him with his body, he was sure of it, he had been so close, he knew it. He was not so sure about his proficiency with words.

Tbc


	8. naked truth 8

Well, thanks loads for all the nice reviews. I'm never satisfied, my last name is Snape, but I was rather flattered by your nice comments. Flattery will bring you everywhere. Erm, literally, this is driving me on, and perhaps this is going to be longer than I anticipated. Which is a good thing, don't you think. So keep the reviews coming!

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Xikum – in the beginning the title was just: challenge response and stayed like that for some chapters. Then that title came to me. I think it is quite fitting, in more ways than just the obvious. But I see your point. When I go and read the other titles, this sounds quite cheesy. Well, nobody can't be on the height of it, all the time, can they:-)

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Fatalonie – I admit to never have read anything Pooh. Do you love me still? I love your comment though ...

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James Jago – Hi there! Girls, a man! *drool* To answer your question: that's because I'm a Germerman!

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Arwen – that is about the best review to give *bows deeply* thanks!

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Sylvester – well, the thing with the Snitch – that's plot you see ...

Thanks a lot to all of you who reviewed. Keep them rolling and I might as well – do the same:-) And you know what that means. Snape – Harry – rolling around like cats in heat. Oh well ... Enough rambling ... Here comes the smut.

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But he would have to try or he would go sadly unfulfilled this night and perhaps his whole life. Yes, he knew his right hand could relieve the purely bodily tension, but he had a feeling that it would be far more memorable with another person, and this person in front of him was the one. He was sure of it. He hadn't been this hard for so long on his own, ever. And the man made him think on top of it – not that he would ever tell him that. His teacher ego was inflated enough as it was. Harry was more interested in inflating bodily parts of Snape, those parts he had touched for only a haunting moment, and was rather eager to touch again. 

"Okay?", he asked and tried what he knew was his sauciest grin. Snape stared at him as if he were something crawling in the dirt. Which he would do, willingly, if it served his plans. "Okay what?", asked the teacher, in a manner so haughty nobody would have guessed that he had already changed bodily fluids with Harry, if only on a superficial level. Harry himself would have been fooled, hadn't it been that the imprint of Snape's hard cock was still rather vivid in his mind, as his most treasured possession, if not on his belly.

Harry grinned again and stepped closer. He discovered he liked playing cat and mouse with Snape, the more so when he as in the position of the cat. Who would have thought Snape was so unsure behind his forbidding exterior? Harry knew by now that Snape wanted him, he simply had to, he wouldn't be here anymore if he didn't, but he played the moralistic grown-up card to the last. That was so very un-death-eaterish of him, it was quite endearing. Surely, the rumours on the sexuality of deatheaters were highly exaggerated. 

"Have you adapted to my reality shift as you call it?" Harry stepped closer until he could feel the body heat of the man. He closed his eyes, bathing in the feeling. So good, oh so good. He did so hope that Snape's delicate sensibilities had adjusted by now. 

"You are the most annoying, infuriating brat that ever walked the grounds of Hogwarts", the Potions master roared. Harry grinned sunnily. Ah, that speech again. Snape must really be giving in. "What on earth makes you believe I would have to adapt to anything you do? Or would even like to?" The full frontal glare, complete with drawn eyebrows, firmly set mouth and nose longer than ever. Harry would have been quite impressed, had it not been for other signs that signalled different things.

He stepped closer once more. Now there was only Snape's clothes between them and just a hint of air, barely enough to breathe properly. "This", Harry whispered and pressed his body against Snape's. He had been right. All that talking hadn't reduced the Potions master's erection to nothing. It was still there, waiting for him. Another, nearly feral grin flitted across Harry's face. Yes! This was it. Snape couldn't get out of this. His mind might fight still, but his body had raised the flag. And Harry had seen what this body could do. It was so strong and masterful and ... oh gods, he had to have him. Now!

The whole body against his shivered. Harry looked up and saw such longing in the dark eyes, he was awed by it. His throat constricted and he felt nearly religious. Then Snape heaved a deep breath while Harry looked on, breathlessly, and closed his eyes while opening the mouth to let a tiny sigh escape.

Harry didn't need any further invitation. He fell onto and into the tempting mouth. His fingers clawed at the completely superfluous clothing Snape wore. The dressing gown was sliding over his shoulders, but the infuriating man was not naked under it, like every normal person would be. No, of course not. He wore a high-collared and completely buttoned-up shirt and complementing trousers, black and scruffy like his usual waistcoat and robe. Harry groaned. He saw lightning behind his closed eyelids and noticed that he was panting heavily. He grind into the thick cloth Snape wore and gasped. A hot tongue invaded his mouth and met no resistance. Harry was shaking. He would have been ashamed, if he could have spared a moment, but he was so intent, his whole body was so intent on IT, he just couldn't bother. He clung to the other man, limply save one part which was achingly erect and gave little moans. The fingers of one hand insisted on trying to further open the endless row of buttons, but they were too lazy. A strong hand clamped down on his, and the velvet tongue left his mouth. "This wont do", muttered Snape, as violently as if Harry had destroyed his favourite cauldron. "I simply refuse to get my clothes soiled AGAIN, just because a premature teenager can't hold it."

Harry would have argued, but he was turned around so forcefully, he just couldn't find the breath to spare. His back now clung to the rough cloth and his arse ground against it and something that was beneath it. He gasped. And he screamed when the hot strong hand with the long thin fingers came down and clamped around his most prominent part. A hot mouth touched his ear, pouring a voice like red hot lava and a breath as cool as the ocean into it. "Scream as much as you want, Potter. You got yourself into this. Now, live with it." And Harry did, violently. He turned around, tried to, at least, he wanted to, he had to see Snape's face while he came, but only made it halfway around, before orgasm struck, coaxed out of him by the callused fingers and the voice and the rough cloth and his anticipation and THE KISS and all that came together and he drowned in it, nearly suffocating in the wave and only held by Snape's hand on his shoulder and the other one on his cock. Snape. Snape. Snape. 

"Ahem". Said Harry when he had the breath to talk again. He glanced up to the face of the other man through his damp fringe. Sure, Snape had raised that eyebrow at him. Harry fought a blush. "Oh, none of that, Potter, if you please". The voice of the Potions master was irritated. "Far too late for blushing now. And I had to touch you to make you come. So you needn't be too embarrassed. Others have fared far worse". Harry hated the smug sound of that. He hated what the words did to him even more. He hated his body that reacted so willingly to Snape. He hated – oh damned. He didn't hate anything. There was no time for that now. Not when he wanted to get on with it. And he was sure of that. It was clearly visible, just how interested he was in that.

"Satisfied?", asked Snape and peered into his eyes like a nosy spectator who had nothing to do with the thing at hand. But Harry sensed an uneasiness behind the superficial arrogance. Could it really be that Snape thought that was enough? Could he really still think that Harry was satisfied with Snape bringing him off? Could he really think that Harry would now go his ways and leave Snape behind just as if he had only been a tool in his search for fulfilment? Oh well, perhaps he could. Very probably so. The man was distrustful to the point of sheer paranoia. And he had reason to be like that, if Harry was quite honest. The things he had survived would have made everyone a bit self-conscious.

Harry looked into the black eyes with an earnestness he wished to imprint on the man. He couldn't make his whole life worth while, but he could sure try to make this experience a good one. And he would. "Dou you have a bed here, somewhere?" The black eyes blinked. Harry grew quite fond of that little gesture. 

"What for?", asked Snape in a highly distrustful voice behind which loomed only the slightest gleam of hope. "Well", said Harry, deciding to take this lightly, "I have no doubt that you already realised my state of anxiety hasn't improved – much, in spite of your helpful hand. And your – state" he brushed his hand against Snape to emphasise the point – "hasn't diminished at all. I'd rather wager, it has grown. Yes, really. It has." Harry stroked and the thing in the trousers jumped. Or tried to at least. Harry licked his lips and could just about hear the tiny moan the other man gave. "And so we will just have to take the appropriate measures, won't we?" Green eyes stared into black ones. Psycho-logic – not to be faulted. 

But Snape didn't budge an inch. Bugger. The ball was in Harry's field, yet again. Well, then he could do what he wanted, okay with him. His fingers obeyed him better than before. The buttons opened, one by one. Snape didn't defend them. At least. Harry moved his lips and his tongue darted out inadvertently. He was completely enthralled in his task. He began to fear that the moment he first laid eyes on the skin of the Potions master – other than his face, hands, and that slim line of his neck that was not covered by his shirt – he would embarrass himself – again. He was so excited. 

There it was. The shirt fell down onto the dressing-gown that already pooled around Snape's feet. Pale white skin. No rosy glow anywhere. Nor hair, apart form a thin line travelling from the flat navel into the trousers that, bereft of the shirt, hang tantalizingly low over the hips. Muscles only as much as were needed to keep the man upright. No youthful pudginess anywhere. Harry thought he had never seen a fairer sight. 

He licked his lips again, and noticing it, brought his tongue to do something useful. Snape gave a tiny sigh, much like a whimper from anyone else. Harry licked again, but trained his hands on the other urgent task at hand. The pants fell down in a matter of seconds and joined their companions on the floor. Harry looked down and swallowed. Well, yes. Snape was a man alright. He had known that, sure. But seeing it, in all his glory, with his own eyes, was something completely different. The bedroom would have to wait. It was here and now, and even Snape's professed age and fragility wouldn't help him. Thin as he truly was, Snape didn't look exactly fragile to him. More like – breathtakingly, ache-inducing gorgeous and prepared for the task at hand, weapon glistening and bold upright. Harry's eyes travelled the path of the hair up and down again. No six pack needed. This was the by far most arousing sight he had ever seen, the pleasure trail broadening the more it neared the – ground.

They locked eyes, eventually. Snape's were so dark like Harry had never seen them before. Then the Potions master wetted his lips with his tongue, another sight Harry couldn't recall seeing ever before. "You are sure of this?", the dark voice asked. Harry rolled his eyes. "How does this look to you?" Harry dipped down his forefinger and sampled some of the fluid on Snape's tip. Holding Snape's gaze, who looked at him like mesmerized after a quick shake of his whole body at the touch of Harry's hand on his most sensitive part, Harry brought the finger to his mouth and licked it. Slowly and thoroughly.

Tbc

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Well, I'm awfully sorry. I though, I'd get THE scene done in one piece. But it was too much fun, obviously. And Xikum, you might just get your wish. This could be the beginning of a wonderful friendship and another story. But first we will have to touch NC-17 realm. Perhaps not. Or perhaps not here:-) The scene above was greatly inspired by a wonderful pic by Snaples. You want to see it, write a nice review, ask for it and I'll send it to you. (You could go to her site, but I can't do links here, so it would be much better and easier, if you reviewed:-)

There is another one, Lorelei, you know it, which keeps inspiring me for the rest of the stuff. I might as well send it out after the next chapter.

BTW – Lorelei, ich vergaß dich oben, aber danke, Süße!!!


	9. naked truth 9

So sorry. Life and other stories dragged me away. Plus, Harry decided to play hard to get. Silly boy, after all the trouble he caused already. 

Thanks, oh thanks for the nice reviews. And remember - this part has an inspirational pic just as good as the last one, I'd rather say, an even better one *drool*

So – review and ask for it, folks, and you'll get rewarded. As the old saying goes – I got mine, now you get yours. Or some such.

Lorelei – ja, isser nich süss mit seinen Unsicherheiten? *hach*

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Snape's breath hitched. The dark eyes flared. And then Harry had only a moment to watch on breathlessly as Snape finally lost control. Completely. He gave a grunt and grabbed Harry rather forcefully. The air left Harry's lungs as one strong arm around his chest pressed his back to the front of the Potions master, the other arm was around his head, the fingers curling nearly painfully into one temple. 

Harry gave in and reclined his head in a gesture of complete submission. Snape's right arm pressed him into the other man in a way that left no doubt as to Snape's inclination. Harry felt like struck by a very big lorry or an Imperius curse. He had no will left in his whole body. His bones seemed to melt inside him. His flesh seemed to flow away. He whimpered, as a blunt object pressed itself against his left cheek, took aim and nuzzled the cleft between his cheeks. Harry gasped. The touch was not yet aggressive, but there was no mistaking the intention behind. A breath grazed his right ear and he shivered all over. 

"Are you still so very sure you want - this?" A swing of Snape's hips into him left no room for any doubt, what 'this' was – if there had been any. Harry's lips moved but seemed curiously unable to form words. Coherent ones at least. The strange whimpering noises must come from him, he thought quite bewildered. 

His temple throbbed as Snape's fingers pressed even more and the breath got hotter. "Because if I start this now in earnest, there will be no way out of it before we are finished." Other parts of Harry's body throbbed, violently. Yes, oh yes, oh please, yes. He gulped. The task seemed monstrous from what he felt, but he wouldn't back out. He never had, and he wouldn't start now. 

Harry pressed into the body behind him some more. He couldn't help that the body was shaking. "Yes", he whispered so low he wasn't sure Snape could understand him. "Just ...". His voice faded into nothingness. "What?" Snape's voice was only a whisper, too. "Don't hurt me – too much". Harry blushed furiously. Fine time to begin thinking about the more gruelling physical aspects of completion. He couldn't help it. He was inexperienced after all, and from what he felt behind, he just couldn't imagine it fitting in himself. He noticed he wasn't all soft and open any more, but his erection took a turn to the limp side. He closed his eyes in embarrassment and shame. 

The body behind retreated, not so much as to be out of reach, but enough to leave Harry feeling bereft. Oh gods! He must be a complete idiot! Here he was with the fulfilment of his dreams on his hands, and what did he do? Drive Snape away with a badly-timed outbreak of youthful virginity. Snape would just cut his head off with a meat axe and Harry couldn't even complain.

"Sure". Harry made a face. The voice of Snape brought him back to reality. The reality where Snape would make fun of him and treat him like the idiot he was. "I was dreaming my whole life of having you in my hand and repay you for all the things you did to me". The voice dripped sarcasm. "And of course I will make it as gruesome as possible. What do you think of me? I'm the Slytherin monster, and you have given yourself willingly into my hands as the virgin sacrifice for whatever great task". Harry felt himself pushed away rather forcefully. He couldn't blame Snape, not really. He had felt the man's painful arousal at his arse already, it must have been a really bad case of blue balls, the proverbial bucket full of ice water having fallen upon it. Harry hated being thought of as a cock tease, but that was what he was, wasn't he? To hell with that.

He turned around and approached Snape again. The man was standing there, naked, arms crossed in front of his chest and glaring at him bitterly. His cock hadn't yet decided what to do, it was caught in a state in between. Harry pitied it rather. And it didn't look that big anymore in that state, not like it had felt from behind. 

"I'm sorry", Harry whispered. Snape's mouth twitched evilly. Well, okay, Harry knew that wouldn't be enough. He reached up his right hand in the air. "Accio Vaseline", he said distinctly. Snape's eyebrow went up so fast it looked like his face would break. The movement was mirrored further down, as Harry remarked at a casual glance.

Something came flying into his outstretched hand. "I was sure even you owned one of these", he said matter-of-factly. No need to get into the personal hygiene of the man, more like time to get the man into him. Partly, at least. He pressed the container into Snape's limp hand and turned around, moulding himself into the other man just like before. "Get on with it. The night is not interminable, you know."

He could really see Snape's mouth open and close behind his back. Not very becoming. "You really are the most insufferable brat in the world." The voice sounded irritable, but Harry felt it was only words. He heard the Vaseline container being opened and felt a rise at his left buttock. He grinned and became all eager again. Yes. Now. Soon.

He gasped. A finger trailed along his spine, playfully rubbing here and there. Harry waited for it to reach its goal, but his expectation was not fulfilled. How very much like Snape, the sneaky bastard. The finger trailed up and down again in circles and Harry moved into the caress. He rubbed himself wantonly against Snape, shifting along like he would have on a dance floor – or rather not. This was far too intimate to be taken elsewhere. 

There was a suppressed moan behind him and at last the infuriating finger did what Harry was anticipating with bated breath. With enough force to make Harry very nearly jump. Yes. Now the Potions master was done with playing. At last. 

It felt – strange. His muscles clenched violently and trying to make them unclench only made it worse. Harry felt sweat breaking out on his brow. He could and would do that. Damned!

A hand stroked the small of his back and Harry noticed that he had clenched his teeth with the effort to relax. Even in his state he realised that this was not exactly productive. He really liked Snape's hand on his back, at exactly that point though and made small whimpering noises that sounded atrociously like Mrs. Norris when nuzzling Filch's leg. Harry didn't mind. 

"Yes", said the smoky and slightly breathless voice into his ear. "That's it, relax". And a second finger was added without much ado of Harry's unruly muscles. Harry squirmed against the delicious friction. More, more, some part of him yowled shamelessly, while another was a bit slower on the uptake. But Snape, seemingly outrageously unaffected by what he was doing, simply took his time and worked on leisurely. "Bastard", Harry barked through gritted teeth.

He could feel a rumble in the chest behind him. "Watch your talk, Potter", Snape growled. "I'm not so far gone yet to not hear you and I am still your teacher." A third finger was added and the three together hit a spot inside that made Harry feel like all his bodily fluids came together to leave his body at once. He glanced down and was relieved to see they hadn't. Not yet again. He squirmed shamelessly to get the fingers just right again. The fingers retreated after just tickling that spot again. Harry howled.

Snape chuckled. "Bastard", Harry hissed again. And added "bastard, sir" on second thought. Snape slapped him across his cheeks. Harry jumped. "Are you going to take points?", he asked. The hand that had slapped him was on his chest again, while the other – oh, it seemed they were getting somewhere. Snape was preparing himself and just the sound of the Vaseline being stroked on hard hot flesh brought images to Harry's mind that made him tremble and he was quite happy with the hand holding him. Snape – was – preparing – himself – to enter him. Him, Harry Potter. Snape was stroking himself, the long fingers meticulously oiling every millimetre of wonderful hot hard part of him. Harry felt saliva dripping from his mouth. Oh, ye gods! Please let him get on with it. Or he would die and go to heaven just on the thought of what the man was doing behind his back. That was clearly an improvement in their relationship. Harry knew the anticipation of having a Snape brooding behind his back, ready to strike any moment. But this was quite different.

The movement stilled. But not for long. Harry felt the oiled part of Snape at his right cheek now, while the long clever fingers parted his buttocks. He took a shivering breath and braced himself. Oh no, that was the wrong way again, he shouldn't brace himself, he should just ... 

"Relax", whispered the smoky voice. "I try", said Harry feverishly. "Ah". Harry gulped. Had that been a sigh of relief? It had been the most erotic sound in the world, he decided. Yet. "And if you can manage to do two things at a time which I highly doubt, knowing your skill with mortar and pestle, push back a bit." Teacher again. Harry hated it. He was a virgin, well not quite any more, as it seemed, technically, but must Snape comment things like that? Well, it seemed so, and it was not such a surprise as it should be. 

But he wanted to learn it, do it the right way, and yes, Snape was a teacher, and he was the one he wanted. So perhaps, just perhaps, he could try to do as he was told. For once. "Back?", he asked timidly. "Down", Snape's voice had a hollow sound, but Harry got it now. "Like that?", he asked and pushed back and down and on it, against it, and there was a fluid movement, and he was filled, impossibly full, and there was pain, and it felt so full and he remembered he had to breathe. 

"Yesss", hissed Snape and the hand that had parted his cheeks went back to its old place on Harry's head, so that Harry felt held by strong hands on his head and chest and could relax. Some. "Perhaps you are not such an abomination of a student in this regard." Snape's voice sounded a bit pained. He held completely still in him and Harry had the time to get accustomed to the really weird feeling of being filled, invaded, and stretched to the limit in a bodily part he had quite neglected until now. Being filled, invaded and stretched to the utmost by Severus Snape, no less. He knew he wouldn't live long enough to get accustomed to the monstrosity of the thought if he lived to his 200th birthday, but, on the other hand, it felt completely normal. Like it was what had to be. 

"I'm flattered", he said flatly when he trusted his voice again. "I know you are the teacher, and I wouldn't dream of criticising your methods, but I have the feeling that there is more to it."

"Oh, do you?", asked Snape, as uninvolved as if he were standing in front of his desk addressing him in class. "What a fast understanding you have of things. I never knew." Inspiration struck. Harry clamped his only very lately relaxed muscles together. Yes! Snape gave a very satisfying groan and one, two, three quick hard thrusts before he caught himself. But it had been enough for Harry to know that he had been right. Yes, there was more to it, and he had a way to make Snape do it and teach him. He grinned happily. 

"Don't do that". The voice of Snape sounded haunted. Harry did it again. "Why?" And again. Thrust thrust thrust. Harry moaned. "Because this way it'll be over sooner than I wish to". Defeated and Snape didn't go together, but Harry couldn't help it. He rather enjoyed himself and he really enjoyed the power he had with this very easy muscle contraction. Snape should be proud that he was so quick on the uptake. 

"Don't worry", Harry said happily and clamped and clamped again. "We can do it again until I can do it to your satisfaction. You are a stern teacher after all. Wouldn't do to not learn this thoroughly".

Thrust thrust thrust. "Watch it, Potter", said Snape. "People will think you are the teacher's pet." "Git", said Harry and clamped again. "Brat", snarled Snape and his next thrust hit that spot that his fingers had earlier and Harry screamed and then he clamped and Snape thrust and one of his hands reached around to touch Harry but it was too late and Harry came like a fountain and Snape came in him, too, and they fell down to the floor onto the puddle of clothes.

There was a long silence, accentuated only by heavy breathing.

Tbc


	10. naked truth 10

Well, I'm afraid, this – is – it. For now. I've already started on a sequel *hemhem*. 

I hate to say it, but I'm not too pleased with this part. It came about mostly in a fit of depression, and I made poor Harry suffer for it. Now he'll make you suffer. The rating is for bad words and a few reminiscences only, here. It had to be done, to get going for the "relationship part", but as I feel now, it is only wobbly psychological babble. 

Erm, whoever still wants to read it, do! By all means:-) (And yes, there is a pic, for the reminiscence part [Sev, in bed, naked, courtesy of Lorelei]). So, if you manage to read this blabber, and are awake enough to review, you just might drop me a line, and will receive something to wake you up).

And no, this is not fishing for compliments. How would I?!:-)

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"For once in your life, think, Potter." The voice of the Potions master rang in Harry's ears when he sneaked back in his dormitory the morning after. If he had thought that the night with Snape had earned him a better treatment, he would have been thoroughly miffed. Snape had been up and completely, formally, dressed before he had woken Harry with a grip on his shoulder that was none too gentle. 

Harry never was on his best form in the morning, much less so after a night like this. So he didn't even put up a fight when he was thrown out of the dungeons quite unceremoniously. He had tried to get something out of Snape, a rise, if nothing else. Something that told him that he had gotten to the other man, somehow. But Snape had seemed as haughty and detached as always. He had thrown some clothes on the bed – Harry never knew where he had gotten them from, but they were his own clothes, those of Snape wouldn't have fitted him in the least – and when Harry tried to get close, to perhaps even kiss him, or just touch him ,or – something – Snape had retreated against the wall, put on his stoniest glare and spoken the words that haunted Harry now.

Think? What should he think? That bastard. He had thought, thank you very much, and it had led him exactly where he wanted to be. To Snape. Damn. Perhaps Snape had a point. What – now? 

Harry thought about it the whole day. He walked through it like in a dream, and a dream it was. They were all leaving, today or tomorrow, but he had not yet decided what to do. He had nothing planned, he realized with wonder. Well, he had been planning to go on a trip around the world, be free at last, but he hadn't made any commitments. That had been cancelled by his planning of last week, the one that had led him into Snape's chambers, at night and naked. Harry gulped.

It was too early, something in him cried out. I can't just leave now, can I? His friends looked at him in a strange way, but he didn't give a damn. He didn't want to kill them on the spot because he wasn't completely sure after all, if Snape's fit of words had been true, but he didn't trust anyone anymore. 

Had they all accosted his Snape? His Snape. Harry's fork fell to the floor without him noticing it. That was the question, wasn't it? Was it really his Snape, and if, did he want it? All of it, always? Harry gulped and left the great hall, mumbling something to the red head beside him who looked clueless like always. Arsehole, Harry thought before he realised he was thinking about his best friend. He couldn't help it. When he left the hall, his eyes wandered to the teacher's table against his will. Snape did not look at him, but he didn't need to, either. Harry felt his eyes and hands and whole body all over him. Damn.

He needed air. He left the castle to stroll around the lake, watched the clouds in the sky, the waves in the lake, the trees in the forbidden forest. Like a moonstruck cow. Oh my god, he thought hopelessly. Is this really it? Have I done myself in, after all? All these years of loathing leads to – this? He couldn't stand it. 

He longed to see Snape. See him, feel him, touch him. Make love to him. The way Snape had done last night. And any other conceivable way. They had fallen asleep completely exhausted, after having done it numerous times, and still Harry ached to do it again, had fought against sleep, without success, the sleep that had been so elusive at other times. He ached now, again, even when his bum felt like he could never again use the restroom in a normal way. Not only his behind, his front, too, come to think of it. His cock felt like it had been mangled. And yet, only the thought of Snape, of the black and piercing eyes, of those hands, was enough to bring him to attention yet again. It really hurt. And it got worse when the images of what Snape had done with this incredible body of his, with the voice and his mouth and his cock came flowing around in his brain like the Hogwarts ghosts in the great hall. Harry whimpered.

He had to adjust his trousers. Gods! He would have thought there had been enough to satisfy his curiosity and his hormones last night. Seemed like it hadn't. Harry felt as afraid as never before in his life, and that meant something. He really couldn't be in love with Snape, now could he? He gasped at the thought. The thought didn't mind and stayed.

But he is evil, snaky, has bad manners, greasy hair and all of that, his mind conveyed feverish thoughts to fight the abomination of the idea of Harry Potter being in love with Severus Snape. Snape was his teacher, he was older, he was a man. Well, yes. Harry walked on furiously. 

Had been his teacher. Damn. Harry realised that all his fellow students would have left by now and he hadn't said his good-byes to them. He felt awful. And to his dismay – free. He didn't want to talk to them. They wouldn't understand. He didn't trust them. They had had a wonderful time together, fought evil and worse, had fun, but now it was over. He felt wild and reckless and completely in a limbo. Great. Just great. He should send himself in to St. Mungo's after all. Perhaps they would know what to do with his head. He simply didn't. 

He walked back to the deserted castle. Yes, he was completely alone now. Alone with his thoughts. His whole life to lead on his own. Eventually. After all, the Dursley tragedy was over. What now? What to do? He had the ridiculous thought to go to Dumbledore to talk with him. He laughed at himself. What should he say: "Excuse me, Professor. I was wondering if you could give me advice as to how I could get Professor Snape to bugger me again?" Well, rather not. 

And that was not the problem, was it? The buggering? It was more like: "Please tell me I'm not mad. Please tell me it is okay to be in love with someone I have hated for half my life. Please tell me you will let me stay here and lounge around Professor Snape, making puppy eyes at him and generally make a nuisance out of myself, which will surely drive my beloved to new heights of venom against unsuspecting innocent students." No rather not. No use to go to Daddy crying. He was a grown-up now. Even if he felt less grown-up than ever before just now. He had thought being an adult meant that you knew what to do in every given moment. He began to wonder. What did being adult mean? He felt as clueless as before, or even more so.

Even if he came to a conclusion as to his feelings for Snape – what would that help him? He had no idea how Snape felt – and he would rather die than ask him. He had pressed himself onto the man, one could say, and the other man had reacted – after putting up a good fight. That didn't mean a thing. Could Snape want him – to stay? For however long it lasted? Whatever it was? Oh hell. Harry ran straight through Nearly headless Nick without even noticing. The Gryffindor ghost was about to utter some of his supremely friendly nonsense, but didn't, after one look on young Potter's face. He just didn't look the same. And what was he doing here anyway? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington decided it was advisable to not get too deep into things, even at his age and status. Especially not as the bloody Baron winked at him from down the stairs in a way that was extremely suspicious.

Harry reached his soon to be former dormitory in a state of utter moroseness. There had been a moment the night before, where it had seemed as if Snape were waiting for him to say something, anything, about the matter. He had been lying on the bed, one arm and leg outstretched, the other arm behind his head under the pillow, the other leg drawn up. The crumpled and soiled bed sheet was placed strategically between his legs and Harry, coming just from the bathroom and being dead-tired and exhausted after at least five overwhelming orgasms for the night, had been rather intrigued by the sight. Again. He was enraptured by the look on Snape's face. Lips and eyes were set in the usual grim scowl, but together with the smooth naked flesh and the posture of leisurely abandon he looked – edible. Thoughtful, though.

Harry had crawled into the bed on the other side, meaning to talk to the man, to say something, touch him, even, not necessarily in a sexual way, but he had been to timid, too awed by the dreamy mood Snape seemed to be in all on his own, and was felled by a sudden exhaustion. Well, and then he had been woken up by a Snape who had been as unreachable as the moon.

There was a note lying on his bed. Harry's heart thundered. He gazed at Hedwig who was sitting on the window sill and ignored him. He heaved a sigh. Okay. He could do this. Open it. Read it. 

__

"You should not deny your inner Slytherin".

Harry stared down at the note. What the fuck did that mean? What did Snape – and it could only have come from him, Harry knew that spidery crawl by heart – want to tell him by that enigmatic sentence? How very much like Snape. Couldn't the man be straightforward for once? Why couldn't he write him a letter like: "I love you. Come to me and stay with me and I will make you happy for the rest of your life. No exception". Oh okay. Or even: "Piss off, Potter. Take your sorry remains out of my castle. I'm through with you. It was nice, but now it's over. Thank you and go molest someone else." No such luck. "_You should not deny your inner Slytherin"._ He still didn't know what that meant. Harry sighed and touched the fine paper reverently with his finger tips. Bastard sir, he thought lovingly and caught himself just in time before he kissed the creamy white hand-made paper that so reminded him of Sev's skin. Oh gods, how deep could he fall? 

Harry thought hard. Thought about all the things that happened since he came to Hogwarts in first year. He didn't go to bed that night. He was sitting on the window sill, Hedwig near him, and looked about the snowy landscape. Not long and he would leave Hogwarts forever. Where should he go? Where did he want to go? Did he feel up to it? To face the world after what he had seen already? What did the world have to give him? Oh right. What did he have to give to the world which he hadn't already given? He had defeated The Stubborn Bastard Who Refused To Get Lost and Let Decent People Lead a Decent Life numerous times. The last one had landed him in St. Mungo's broken in more ways than just one. And still – he didn't want to go into the world. All the things he had longed to do when he was younger just didn't seem right any more. Quidditch, what a shallow sport. Invigorating, exhilarating, but hey, he didn't want to spend his life chasing after a little golden ball that seemed to be just out of reach and made him frantic to catch it. Travelling – wouldn't he always ever meet himself? Training to become an auror? Well, after all he had experienced, the aurors weren't any better people than the others. Their job was dangerous which would have appealed to him earlier, but somehow didn't anymore. 

Was that what the doctor had talked about? That – depression thingy? He could be simply mad, whatever the doctor meant. Post Trauma – something. Leading to panic disorder. Yes he knew, Madam Pomfrey had watched him like a lynx. They all had. He had been very aware of it. But he couldn't, wouldn't talk about it. With no one. 

Yes, he had been in a stupor, he only realised now. THE KISS had awaken him back to life. He had come out of his shell, after all, his self-induced shell that should have saved him from being hurt ever again. Now he hurt in ways he wouldn't have thought possible, his mind was a mess, but he was alive. So very alive. So eager to live. And to whom did he owe that? To one person. Harry sneered and was taken aback. Did the man already rub off on him? 

Snape had made him talk. Talk and think. Think and really see. Himself. As he was. As he had become. And he didn't like it. He wasn't the good boy. No. He had saved the world but he didn't want to be a hero for the rest of his life. He didn't want to be after things to become perfect. The golden Snitch - forever tantalizingly out of reach and forever he was after it. Peace, harmony, perfection.

Snape hadn't let him. There were deeper urges inside. Under the calm exterior that was nothing but depression and fear, Harry had been atrociously angry. Angry and greedy and fearful again. He didn't know what he wanted. He knew what he should want and what not. Snape belonged clearly to the latter. So very clearly. 

But the allure of the forbidden was stronger and Harry couldn't resist. His conscience wouldn't have it and so he found himself naked in Snape's room without really knowing how he came here. The brain was a fickle friend, really. His brain, specially. 

And look what it had gotten him. A grin spread over Harry's face just as the early morning light came vaguely across the horizon. 

Snape wanted to make him trust his feelings and show them, let them loose. He had incarcerated himself after Voldemort had - whatever - him. Everyone had tried to make him talk but he didn't. He played the good boy, like he used to do, but wasn't happy anymore. Snape wanted to help him to break out of his shell. His manner wasn't the most considerate, but help he wanted, like he had always done, really. Harry gulped. That torn and broken creature had spoken to him in a way nobody else could. Nobody else dared. And Snape had reached him. And made him, Harry Potter, reach out to the one thing he really needed and wanted, against his childish notions of what one did do and what not.

No, that wasn't depression. That was something completely different. He wanted to stay in Hogwarts not out of fear of the world. Nope. He wanted to stay here to pay back in kind. At last. Snape had been right. He had been spoiled here, people had had to come to his rescue. Yes. He had saved the world as they knew it. But there was still one person he owed a debt. Someone who hadn't been free. Just like he wasn't. Someone who could really profit from a bit of logic, psycho- or otherwise.

Merlin help me, Harry thought helplessly. The greasy git rules my life. I'm lost. It didn't feel that bad. 

He would have to send flowers to Seamus.

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The end, for now


	11. Kind of epilogue Sev

Well, don't accuse me of not giving in to my readers. Sakurazukamori (Sweet Jesus Christ, btw, what a name to write:-) wanted to have Snape's POV about it all. Well and I wanted that, too, suddenly. See, I'm really easy. Wiggle a bar of chocolate in front of my nose, or nice wine, or a Snape – see how I can outdo myself:-)

Hemhem – furthermore, I have begun a sequel, but am not as yet too pleased with it.

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(Kind of) Epilogue

Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies

Severus Snape stared at the ceiling trying to ignore the soft snoring at his side. It irritated him. And it irritated him even more that he was actively trying to ignore it. He should ...

He sighed inwardly. Well, that was the point, wasn't it? He shouldn't, and he knew it. He simply shouldn't have, however tempting the prospect and however inebriated he had been. 

But he had. Undoubtedly. And numerous times. So numerous, in fact, that he would have been quite awed by himself, had he been inclined to do so. He wouldn't have thought that possible at his age. Well, of course he hadn't had it in a long time, the rumours were sadly true in that respect, but that didn't explain his eagerness in the least. At least shouldn't.

The snore raised in pitch. Snape couldn't help an irritated glare at the affront. He couldn't help that his glare melted, if only slightly, at the sight of the offender. Oh, Merlin, what had he done? Harry Potter, in all his youthful rosy glory, puffing away faithfully as if he didn't have a worry in his life. Harry Potter, lying in the bed of Severus Snape, sleeping like a baby, a baby who trusted his parent to wake and guard its sleep. Hrmpf. And of course he hadn't. Harry Potter was free of thoughts. He had gotten himself – and rather convincingly so, Snape had to admit - what he had come here for. Even if he couldn't admit to his wish from the beginning, he had been rather eager, some youthful histrionics which had been only too understandable, given their mutual relationship – Snape snorted, but took care to do it silently, as to not wake up the person who didn't belong into his bed at all – aside, when Snape had insisted on getting things spelled out. 

Well, and now here he was. They were, some insipid part of his mind insisted, but he denied it. He was, the other offender was sleeping. And would be gone tomorrow, to Merlin knew where, but no doubt to rising up to the high expectations everybody had for the Boy Who Lived Still. Famous Quidditch player, no doubt, or famous Auror, something invigorating and shallow, and foolish, of course, something on the bright side of life. Which would undoubtedly include a wife and children in some time, after he had played around a bit. The war hero, Harry Potter, would lead the glorious if a bit shallow life the world expected. Now that he had given in to his darker desires and got them fulfilled. Everything was as transparent as glass. Things happened like that. A boy, youthful curiosity, a kiss that led to more, a feeling that had been hatred for years, transforming into something less dark but also less clear – Snape suppressed a hollow laugh. Snaped, he had called it. Foolish boy, speaking the truth without knowing it.

That was how the world would see it. Judge it. No matter that the boy had come to him, naked, he was the grown-up. The one who should act accordingly. Throw the boy out, make a scathing remark that would bring him on track again, and leave him to his own devices. But no. He hadn't. He had become entangled in the game and he had, he might as well admit it, enjoyed it. 

The world. Snape glanced at the boy who was so much part of the world, again. Deep in sleep. Well. He allowed himself a snort. The world. Still called him a death eater, a former, if he was lucky, and behind his back only, if he was luckier, but would no doubt expect of him to do the right thing. And he hadn't. He knew it. And had enjoyed it – tremendously. 

And not just the bodily part. That was bad enough, but there was more. He had enjoyed making Potter admit to what he felt. Had enjoyed that he was the one, of all people, to make Potter think. A small reward for all the years the boy had stared at him dumbfounded. And stubborn. 

He had enjoyed it, damn the boy. Had even enjoyed his awkward tries at manipulating him. Manipulating Snape – the boy had guts, he had to give him that. Come here naked, make a pass at him, and turn tail, so to speak, in the very last moment, was a game he wouldn't enjoy with any other person. Snape's eyes turned wide. Merlin's beard. That was not true, was it?

Lucius – no, Lucius enjoyed games, but Severus had had enough of that. More than enough. Even if Lucius hadn't been in Azkaban. But he was. Snape shut the door to that special room, torture chamber more like. Plus, Lucius playing hard to get would have been ridiculous, to say the very least.

Lupin? No, Lupin wouldn't have done something like that either. Plus, he wouldn't have been intrigued by it. Like he was, when Harry did it. Yes. Black? Oh no. Someone of his fellow former death eaters, one of the poor creatures who had been under an Imperio so strong they couldn't think for themselves once in twenty years? Nope.

He could as well admit it. Part of the – unholy fascination - which didn't let him sleep now, was the fact that Potter was so young. Forbidden fruit, and all that nonsense. Just on the verge of becoming ripe, all the uncertainties that would wilt with age, all the charming incongruities, all that youthful eagerness, all those uninhibited feelings once he had overcome his natural timidness, had been quite intriguing for a creature who was used to the dark. Used to hiding feelings, used to mask everything, used to not trust anybody enough to let them get to him. It had been amusing. Quite. And very satisfying. Not that that was saying much. After all, he hadn't had a night like this for more years than he was going to admit, even to himself. Part of why the students' relentless teasing was so annoying was that it rang true.

Snape moved uncomfortably in his bed. He was annoyed that he couldn't stretch as far as he was used to on the frequent occasions of sleep evading him. He was used to living alone, sleeping alone, and generally doing what he wanted at any given moment – well, apart from teaching ungrateful brats and only after the dark lord had fallen and he was not needed as a spy anymore. He could do what he wanted, lie as much across his bed as he wanted. He couldn't now. He had half a mind to wake the brat and throw him out. Back to his peace and the whole of his bed. But only half a mind. Which annoyed him even more. 

Well, he could always roam the halls. Was no great point in doing so as it was the last night of term and students would most probably be lying in all corners, drunk as monks, and he couldn't take points, as most of them would be gone forever as of tomorrow. And he hadn't yet been successful in convincing Albus that it would be advisable to take points already from the next generation. That would really be something. 

Nonetheless, he had to do something. He itched to do something, anything. He couldn't lie here, still, and listen to the soft wheezing of a person who showed him how easy sleeping was. It wouldn't do if he strangled Potter in his sleep. That would be difficult to explain. And it would render all his admirable control of seven years useless, if he now killed him after all, for – breathing. The boy had done far more annoying things. It wouldn't be right somehow. 

Snape sighed and got up. He hated himself for doing it carefully, and hit the bed deliberately with some force when he noticed. If the brat woke up, he could throw him out and would have the bed to himself again. No good-byes, no messy scenes, up, and away. But no. Snape glared at the boy who only huddled deeper into his cushion, gave a soft sigh and had a smile blossoming on his face which wilted with deeper sleep claiming the boy again. Snape shook himself out of the reverie with the next snore. That would be the day! Severus Snape standing in the cold damp dark watching the sleep of Harry Potter in his own bed, the bed that was rightfully his – and ... He got dressed and out of his chambers, locking them ferociously. Should the brat wake up after all, he would have to stay. Served him right. 

Severus stalked the halls of Hogwarts and was quite successful. Not only the seventh years, over whom he had no say any more, were out of bounds, he was meeting 6th, 5th, and even 4th years on his way. They would have something to think, when their brains had cleared enough to their usual befuddled state, he thought maliciously. 

Yes, this was his world, he thought, as happily as was in his nature to be. It was dark, and the only people he met he could drive the fear of the lord into. Bliss. No one dared talk back, no one dared to get under his skin or into his pants. That only ever always came with the end of their school career. Which brought him back to – Potter. And why the hell was he standing in front of the fat lady who for all he knew was the ward to Gryffindor tower? How did he get here?

The lady looked at him with her head inclined and her eyebrow matching his at his height. "Do you want to enter, dear? I don't think I ever saw you before?" "No", Snape snapped. "But if I want to enter, it is no business of yours." Well, why would he? Embarrass Finnigan some more? Snape smirked. Not very likely. Every seventh year in Gryffindor tower would be either comatose or - not there at all. Where was the fun in that?

Snape looked dumbfounded at the portrait who happened to gawk at him like a fish. "What?", he asked irritably but not waiting for an answer. Fun? Had he thought about – fun? What was the matter with him? He had never thought in categories like that. It was his duty to make the students behave and the means to that goal were always a matter of debate between him and Albus, but he had never thought about it as fun. Annoying, irritating, brainless twits to teach and to torture – it was an ordeal, a nightmare, a tragedy. Not fun. 

"Let me in", he demanded. "Why would I?", the lady answered with some wounded pride. "You have no business to be here, in the middle of the night." Snape snorted. "I happen to think otherwise", he said haughtily. "It has come to my attention that a student you should have been guarding as it is your duty, has been out after curfew and managed to loose all his clothes. I happen to be in a festive mood and do not want to add to the confusion of the leaving day by having a naked student run around the halls." The lady looked not very convinced. Severus began to believe his own story. After all, a naked Potter, under the cloak or not, would be something to talk about for years, if caught. Which was highly likely even unintentionally, when so many people jumped around. Yes, would be much better if Potter had his own clothes. He could just blend into the picture of general confusion. Shouldn't be too hard for him.

He felt a new and strange urge to get into Potter's room and was highly annoyed with it. And the fat lady who wouldn't let him enter. Just when he was about to do something unforgivable like curse her to oblivion or even beg her, she opened and the door behind the portrait swung open. Ah, at last.

He had never been here. Cosy little room, just as had to be expected. He sniffed suspiciously. They had been smoking here, precious little Gryffindors. Potter wasn't the only one for whom the rules didn't apply, it seemed.

Boys to the left, girls to the right, Snape saw it before his inner eye. Yes, he knew the plans of Hogwarts, how could he not? He had no map as the marauders had been rumoured to do, but he had been living in this castle for ages. He spared a thought on just how he would react if he met someone. He shook his head slightly. What an exceedingly weird situation, and all on a moment's whim. Well, his whole life had been like that – one moment could change the world. And did. 

This must be it. Potter's bed. An unruly mess, like his hair, his clothes, his everything. Yes, the clothes he must have worn the day before were lying crumpled on the half-packed trunk. A white owl looked at him with a gaze that seemed reproachful. Snape gazed back and around. No living being here beside himself and the owl, and the full moon, if that counted. 

He shook his head again, very nearly loosing patience with his own mind, grabbed the clothes without paying too much attention on what exactly they were and in which state and fled the room. He couldn't help gazing back before descending on the stairs. Here he had been, for all those years, sleeping or not sleeping, his nemesis. His sleeping beauty. Severus' throat gave a peculiar sound. His feet ran. 

Back into the dungeon, back on safe Slytherin ground. The brat still slept like a baby. Severus Snape threw the child's clothes on the end of the bed, gazing at the young sleeping face. He sighed deeply. Sleep was still nowhere in sight. He waved his wand and assembled his table and chair again. He sat down on the chair. And then he could do nothing more than watch the brat sleep.

Oh, he could have read, perhaps. But that was somehow not appealing. He quite liked the stupor he felt he was in. Everything was dark and faded into the wall, everything besides one young white face with rosy cheeks, rosy mouth and that annoying scar. 

He didn't know how much time had elapsed when the face suddenly contorted as if in pain. The boy looked older, very much older, and he screamed, once, and went on muttering. Snape was out of his chair and on the bed in one second flat. He couldn't understand what the boy was saying, and felt quite helpless. This was not his business, never had been. Even the students of his own house knew better than to come to him for comfort. 

How those lips moved. And this creamy-white forehead – so torn in pain. Snape's hand reached for it before he could call it back. His hand stroked the forehead, his fingers pushed away some damp locks that clung to it. Suddenly the green eyes opened, looked around, blinking. Snape was taken aback, feeling very embarrassed. A wide smile rose on the pretty face and then the boy fell asleep again, as if nothing on earth could harm him. Snape felt dumbstruck and took away his hand as if in fear he would burn it. 

He sat back on his chair, scowling wildly. How could the boy be like that? So – trusting? And how could he himself feel so – strange? As if it was the right thing, that Harry Potter was lying in his bed, sleeping, and looking at him as if he trusted him with his life and would never leave him. Snape shook his head. What a mess.

He was disgusted with himself. How could he bring the boy in such a situation? Granted, the boy had brought himself in here, but he was the adult here. He hadn't given in to all the advances before, had he? Even if they had been in jest, as ravenous as he must have been – even if he hadn't realized until one Harry Potter entered his chambers, naked – he should have felt some hint of an urge before. If it wasn't just – oh Merlin, sweet Merlin, no. If it wasn't – Snape gasped – if it hadn't been, and for some time now – Harry Potter. Himself. The Boy Who Lived. The living nightmare. The war hero. The annoying brat. The too good to be true kid. Gods, no. 

He needed something to drink, desperately, but just to spite himself, didn't get up to fix himself one. He needed what was left of his wits about him. Never had needed them more. 

Could it be true? He was – and had been for some time – infatuated with Harry Potter? His student? Well, ex-student, but still. His nemesis? The son of James Potter? The boy who got everything? The boy who had accomplished what Severus himself couldn't in all the years? The boy who spoke Parseltongue as if it were nothing? The boy who wasted his talents like he had them in abundance and needn't do anything to keep and hone them like a normal person would? Oh gods, no. 

Severus Snape buried his head in his hands. His life had always been a cruel joke, but this was beyond everything imaginable. Severus Snape – in love (he sneered at the notion and the word as such, even in his own head) – with – Harry Potter. He was a monster, after all. Albus might say what he wished, the people were right – he – was – a - monster.

In love with Harry Potter. If he admitted that to himself, if only for a moment, if he accepted it, in the middle of the night, as a given fact – what were the consequences? The boy would leave tomorrow. He had satisfied his curiosity and would leave. Would go into the world and wreak havoc in it as was the right of the young and foolish. And he would stay here, in Hogwarts, living on as before, trying to live day after day. He was not unhappy with it.

Severus snorted. The boy had to go, must go. He couldn't, wouldn't have him here. It would not be right. That was not only fear on his part, fear of having to work with feelings he didn't want to have, he noticed with some surprise, it was genuine care for the well-being of the boy. The boy couldn't afford staying here out of a misunderstanding. He had a feeling of duty, that much was clear, it would be all too easy to make him stay here, and make him believe he did so out of his own wishes and for his own best. But he wouldn't. For the boy's own good, he had to go. 

But ...

But perhaps. Just perhaps. Perhaps it was wrong for the boy to go. Go outside and waste his life with playing the superhero. Playing the Gryffindor golden boy, the one everybody knew, or thought they knew to the core. The boy people admired without knowing him. Dumbledore hadn't been so wrong after all, putting the boy to the Dursleys. Hero worship never did a person any good, all the more if the person had some knowledge about his own darker nature, which had nothing to do with the things people thought they knew about him. Like that Creevey boy, they only worshipped Potter because they wanted to bathe in the reflection of fame, to make their silly useless lives a bit better. Let the boy make a mistake and they would all leave him, badmouth him and go on the search for a new hero. 

Perhaps it was better for the boy to stay in Hogwarts and investigate his real nature. 

Snape snorted. Or perhaps it would be best if he himself went to Albus Dumbledore to get thrown out of here. Not only had he molested a minor under his care, now he kept on lying to himself about the reasons to keep his little boy wonder. And a wonder he was, even if he admitted it only to himself.

A trusting fool, if ever there was one. One who gave himself willingly into the hands of his former most hated teacher. Yes, he knew it, it would be all too easy to make him stay. A little bit of this, a little bit of that, and he would have the boy here, for himself to devour. At leisure. The boy had tasted blood now, and it would only be too natural for him to want more. More more more. Not that he could blame him. He felt quite the same. He even sensed a small feeling of regret for having gone unfucked for all those years, while all the time there had been – possibilities. 

Not the students, of course. Not Harry Potter. But still – possibilities. Even here at Hogwarts. That dude who pretended to have written all these books about his fighting against dark creatures. For example. Snape shuddered. Or rather not. That wouldn't have been half as pleasurable. 

Which brought him back to – Potter. Who was still snoring softly in his bed. Oh well. Could as well go and have a lie-down himself. Wouldn't hurt, now, would it, if he got at least a handful of sleep?

No sleep. No damn sleep. Soft snoring, breathing against his cheek, playing with his hair. Abominable. He glared at Potter. With no success whatsoever. Oh, okay. He resigned himself to lying on his back and staring at the ceiling – again. 

It felt strangely peaceful. His thoughts went flowing through the chamber, painting strange patterns on the walls, and leaving again. He would give the boy a chance. Either way.

Before dawn he rised again, showered and dressed. Then he woke the sleeping beauty. Who smiled at him in a way that made his knees go weak and his whole being, body and mind, wanted to throw itself into the bed, onto the boy and at his mercy. Of course, he didn't do any such thing. 

The boy reached out to touch him, with that trusting smile of his. It was irresistible. "For once in your life, think", Snape barked.

He surely hoped, Potter would for once do as he was told.

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The end


End file.
